Milc/C.J. Milnes
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Chapter 43 - Sometimes right isn’t enough
🕑 Added 2025-04-25 20:49:10 +0000 UTCWith a thought, I sent Glimpse winging south to catch up with my kill team. As he passed overhead, I watched as the slave soldiers of Urkash were being hunted down by whooping nomads. They were leaving a long trail of blood and bodies behind as they ran.
I’d read somewhere that most of the killing in ancient battles took place after one side broke and ran. That truth was playing out before my eyes. Squadrons of lancers were pouncing on the larger groups and tearing them apart, while mounted archers herded the fleeing men and kept them from spreading out too much.
Feral Huskar ran amok. They would kick or snatch up the fleeing soldiers and then squeeze, turning the poor bastards into empty toothpaste tubes. None of them were eating any of their victims, so I was confident that my orders regarding their diets were holding firm.
Beyond the mass of beaten troops lay an arid wasteland. In the steppe, fleeing from a battle wouldn’t necessarily mean you’d starve or die of thirst. There was always a stream or a small lake to drink from, and plenty of small game that could be caught with simple traps.
This landscape was barren. Very few animals moved, and there were none of the larger creatures I was used to seeing in the north. Goats and skinny-looking sheep replaced Aurox herds, horses and deer. The long, green grass was gone, and sandy expanses interspersed with straggly shrubs served as a poor substitute. It looked like hell to my eyes, long since used to the verdant growth of the steppe.
Glimpse flew south, speeding ahead of the routed army until he found the killers. That they had all survived thus far was a testament to their training, equipment and the savage nature of all the tribesmen. A small camp with a remarkably smokeless fire, a Dakota-style fire with a small tunnel and an air intake, was covered by a pot of boiling water. One of the men was tossing meat and vegetables into it to make a stew.
Glimpse landed in the branches above them and squawked to announce himself.
“Birdies back,” one man muttered.
“Battle went well, then?” called Janko. “The silly fucks must have been shitting themselves before you even arrived!” Glimpse hopped down and landed on the nondescript man's shoulder. He gave a quiet caw of approval before flapping over to the man chopping meat and giving him a beady look. A chunk was tossed his way and snatched out of the air.
These men know how to reward a bird. You didn’t leave a single eyeball! The crow telepathically sent to me.
If you double back later today there’ll be shitloads of them.
Don’t be bitter, Ray. It was inevitable. What do you want this lot to do next?
To you, a field of dead humans is a smorgasbord. To me, it’s… wrong. Inefficient and unprofessional. Keep them moving south. There should be a couple of cities off to the side of our line of advance that need to be poisoned to keep the garrisons at home while we pass.
The boys here will need resupply in that case. City stores are more complex to access and much larger than a field army, Glimpse replied.
Fly back tonight, and Kril will have a storage ring for you to carry to them stocked to the gills with dysentery and plague.
I will!
The crow hopped over to Powtu and began scratching lines in the dirt in front of the man. Finding literate tribesmen had been impossible, so we had compromised, and the men had spent some time with the coven to learn at least the basics of the written language. The ladies had also trained them in the use of the spells bound to the beads around their necks. Glimpse knew what needed to be conveyed, and when Powtu stumbled, he received a sharp peck on the hand to let him know he’d made a mistake.
I focused on my surroundings and slipped my helmet back on, becoming the Black Knight once again. ‘Tis but a scratch! The thought set me chuckling as I felt Kos and Mune’s threads coming back towards me.
They were kicking half a dozen men in various states of disarray ahead of them. The poor bastards were wearing loincloths and not much else. The suspicious brown colour of the clothes was a good sign. In terms of how effective Kril’s poisons were, they certainly weren’t a good sign for these soldiers.
Red letters hovered over each of their heads. They had stats in the C and B range, these blokes were bugger all threat to me or the Fangs.
“As requested, Mond. you might want to keep your distance, the smell isn’t so good. What the fuck kind of potions did Kril give the assassins?” asked Kos as he kicked the last man into position, fallen to his knees and clutching his guts.
“Bad ones!” I grimly chuckled. “Gentlemen. I’m afraid I require some information from you, and I know you can’t just share it, even though you know what’s coming your way if you don’t. That soulbound compulsion prevents you from being of much use to us, right? Well, it’s a curious thing; we’ve discovered that a little pain, or a lot of pain, if I’m being honest, can help your mind slip those chains for a little while. Long enough for you to be useful at any rate.” I crouched down in front of them and raised the visor of my helmet.
Five bolts of power shot towards me and coursed over my armour. Crackles of electricity writhed across the black surface as the fire and ice attacks essentially cancelled each other out. I closed the visor, unaffected. I really liked my new armour.
“Blind them and take them to Kril,” I ordered. Mune grinned and drew his daggers to do the honours. “Don’t tell Glimpse we destroyed so many eyeballs. He’s already in a bad mood with me!”
I am not in a bad mood with you, Raymond, the crow sent.
“You blokes are in for a world of hurt for a while. Once we know everything you know about Mortimer’s armies and empire, we’ll put you out of our misery. Don’t give them to the women and boys, just kill them.” Mune had already blinded half of them, quick slices that cut into the bridge of their noses as he pierced both eyes. The man at the end of the line glanced to his side and vomited noisily.
I turned and headed back out into the battlefield to meet the legions. They weren’t far off at this point, a few hundred metres from the ruined walls at most. I waved as I approached, and a series of barked orders and trumpets rang out to signal the halt. They stopped in perfect formation, and shields were lowered to the ground, the ranks leaning on them as the Huskar began chatting and joking among themselves.
“Where’s Bon?” I called.
“Back with the Signifiers, Legate. You want me to call him forward?” called a centurion.
“No worries, bloke. I’ll find him. You guys can fall out. They’ve routed, and we’re all clear for the time being. Good work today! Glory to the First, the Fourth and the Seventh! The rest of you can go first next time!”
“No thanks, Legate!” chuckled one of the soldiers from the second wave. “Glory is all well and good, but it’s better to live!” A centurion clouted the Huskar on the back of the head and began yelling in his ear, but I walked on with a laugh and smiled at the hard-done-to soldier as I passed.
The signifiers, our horn section, were where I’d left them, just behind the crest of the hill we’d used to cover our initial approach. They’d fallen out, horns were being carefully wrapped in waxed linen sheets and made ready for storage.
“Bon!” I called as I approached. A Huskar appeared from nowhere next to me and fell into step, marching along like an oversized shadow. His dull grey armour was markedly different from the gleaming steel of the other troops. “Good job, Umbrati. Glad to know you’re keeping an eye on the command team.”
“We’re always watching Legate,” the stealthy Huskar rumbled.
“Any problems I should know about?”
“No, Legate.” So he wasn’t a conversationalist. Probably an advantage in his line of work.
“Legate!” Bon slammed a fist against his chest, then crouched down to converse more normally. I was not going to get stilts so I could look the giants in the eye while we talked, so they would have to kneel. I briefly worried that power was going to my head.
I’d just casually ordered the blinding of half a dozen men so we could torture them without them flinging spells around. We’d have butchered tens of thousands of humans, setting aside the poor shits turned into bandaged men, before sunset this evening. And none of it bothered me, I was concerned about our losses, about my kill teams hitting the flanking cities fast enough for us just to leave token forces to guard their garrisons, about where we would find enough fodder to feed the vast herds or aurox and mammoths we were dragging south behind us to feed the army… dozens of things swirled in my mind but I felt nothing for the ones we’d killed this morning.
“The trebuchets are great but they’re fucking pointless for a field engagement. Same with the other artillery. Thoughts?” I asked.
“I agree. Why lob rocks when you can incinerate several miles of walls and defenders with a thought?” Bon replied. “I think they will have a place in a proper siege, but even then, it will mostly be to support the casters. Did you harvest many Souls?”
“I did. The golems got the amalgams, so it wasn’t a huge haul, but it’s enough for another couple of squads of high-level mage-Huskar. Any better ideas for what to do with them?”
“Lord… Mond. You should raise more of the nomads. It will quell any complaints of favouritism,” the giant rumbled. I glanced around. There were a few nomads nearby, a handful of chiefs standing next to scythe-chariots, and a few dozen messengers waiting on their mounts for orders to pass on.
“It’s not efficient,” I said quietly. “Huskar’s starting stats make them the logical choice.” Bon chuckled, a gentle booming sound that drew all eyes our way.
“I appreciate your admiration for the handiwork of your predecessor. We are a superior species. But sometimes the best choice is not the wisest one. You need to continue to bond the tribes and kings to you.” His voice was almost a whisper, and for one of the giants, it was impressively discreet.
“After today, they won’t have anything to complain about. Victory is its own reward. It’s hard to complain about the man who just led you to smash a force five times your number,” I replied.
“There’s truth in that, Legate. But not enough. I strongly advise you to share some Souls with the nomads this evening.”
There were victory feasts planned for that night. The legions had their arrangements, and a mammoth cull was underway somewhere to the north of us. The chiefs of the nearby tribes had come together as well. After the food was served and the yalk was making its way round the warriors, I stood and called out for silence.
“It is time for me to reward the brave warriors of the steppes. I want five thousand warriors brought to me two days from now, when they’re done hunting down the shit-sitters, and they’ll all receive magic.” A cheer went up at the words and I began to sit down, hoping this foolish allocation of resources wouldn’t bite me in the ass in the future. The nomads weren’t meant to get close to the enemy, and arming them with enchanted weapons made by highly levelled people made far more sense to me.
Fay had explained a little of it. What pride I had in the old world came from my dedication to doing the job well, the first time. The only one I needed to recognise it was me, it wasn’t as though I could discuss my work casually, and even if I could, I wouldn’t have cared. I was my own worst critic. The recently Stone Age tribesmen had a very different view of pride and self-worth. External validation was a vital part of it.
“About time!” Calpakter called to widespread approval.
“How are you finding life as a cavalryman?” I snapped back without thinking, but the old warrior laughed and raised his flask of fermented mare's milk before taking a long swig.
“Oh, it’s not so bad, King Mond. Easier on my feet!” he locked eyes with me, and I fought the urge to yank on his soulbond. I grinned back instead.
“Good! More yalk!” I called, and this earned a louder cheer.
“You did the right thing, love. I know! I know. I heard your arguments and you’re right, but… sometimes right isn’t enough,” she said softly.
“You sound like Bon,” I grumbled as I settled back in my chair.
“You’ve refreshed the bond, Ray,” she whispered. “They need to know you value them and giving them power maintains that sense of belonging, of being loved.”
“They are…” I started to reply, then stumbled to silence. I did love the ornery, primitive, savage bastards. They were my people now, and the atomised dissociation that was all I’d known on Earth felt like a distant memory. I surged back to my feet.
“Warriors of the steppes! We’ve won a mighty victory thanks to you!” I called, and cups were emptied as a cheer went up. “You– we are tied together. A weapon forged in the grasslands designed to smash the shit-sitters!” Another roar of approval echoed around the camp.
“Mond!” called out a voice. Another picked it up, and soon enough, it was a chant. I moved among them, exchanging forearm clasps and bear hugs. When I got to Calpakter, he grinned and stuck out his forearm. I gripped it, and he pivoted at his hips to try and throw me over his shoulder, but all he did was end up in a pile at my feet.
“I’d have thought you’d have learned the first time you tried that. It's never going to work, brother.” He smirked as I hauled him back to his feet, then slapped me on the left shoulder with one hand.
“Can’t blame a king for trying. Got to keep you on your toes. I thought we’d lost you to those bloody giants, Mond.”
